Everytime I come home, and I walk into my actual hometown, I want to do one of three things: Drink like there's no tomorrow, start a fight, or get fucked in an inappropriate place.

One down, two to go. I'll leave the rest of that to your imagination (well, everyone's imagination except for Napoleon's I suppose, because he knows the truth).

I hate how hometown apathy is so contagious, although it's hard for it not to be, because something melodramatic is happening at every turn, and one gets desensitized to it all after about eighteen years of it.

The latest? Apparently, by drinking the tapwater of said town, you will most definately become pregnant, or impregnate some girl who is bound to be at least seven to ten years your junior. It's trendy here in trendsville! Not only that, but it is the coolest thing ever to listen to Nickelback, be on unemployment at 21, or, have a crown made from a popcorn bag that your drunken boyfriend made you while you "watched" Narnia. That event in itself, will be talked about for weeks, I'm sure.

I hate my town. I hate it here. I want to go home. Or drink my face off-- One of the two

One of my highschool buddies (read: the conquest that ne'er was) now wants to sleep with me. Correction, have wild relationship destroying sex with me in the back of a Fiero on ...I dunno, "Makeout Point" or something.

I'm having a problem here, only in the department of convincing him that "hey, you are so not hot shit anymore-- I mean, look at you! Look at me! It just won't work."

I'm such an ass, but the overwhelming power of monogamy compells me so. Not to mention, the guy is a total rat bastard in search of an "easy" way out of the stalk-ish relationship/hold his girlfriend now has on him. I mean, it bears mentioning, but it doesn't, because I would never cheat on anyone, especially not Napoleon.

It's interesting though, because it's just been an extra brick on the wall of my not-so-easily-freed-from depression. Oh, just sock it to me baby, I can take it! Man, if I have a few more Smirnoff Ice (tennis court beverage!) I can take on the world.

I need to be brought back to reality. This would dictate me being on the edge of a precipice or something. Which one? I don't know.

There is a man (a real strange man!) who comes into the store occasionally, when he is not strutting about or phoning down to the store to "reserve" what he wants. His name is "Wayne". Now, I don't usually go with first impressions of people as a basis for anything, but he gives me a "vibe", and by "vibe" I don't mean mid-shift bent-over-the-counter orgasm, but a weird feeling that sits in my stomach and is uncomfortable.

Imagine my surprise when my discomfort is compounded by Wayne coming into the store, and taking an awfully long time around the video rack. Finally he guiltily walks up to the counter and plops "Hustler's Slutty Spanish Girls" on top of my old Gender Issues journal. What a conundrum.

Now, I don't care about porn. I really don't give a shit if you want to watch it, beat off to it, frame it, or use it in hampster cages. I only laugh when other guys come into the store and look yearningly at the Penthouse issues and then see me behind the counter and freak out, and leave with only a chocolate bar. It doesn't bother me.

The thing that irks me about Wayne and porn is that he fucking rents it under "Sue's" name. "Sue" is this really sweet old lady who comes down every Sunday and buys a coffee and talks to me. She's this absolutely tiny frail old woman (late seventies), who is very kind, and just...sort of feeble too, and sort of an eccentric shut-in. And he puts her apartment number down, her phone number, the works. I mean, at least he's paying for his own porn, but if that shit was ever late and someone phoned her and was like, "we'd like you to return Hot Asians as soon as possible please" the poor girl would have a heart attack.I guess it also bothers me, because after seeing him do something like that, when he could easily rent pornos somewhere else (and, for that matter, watch them somewhere else, rather than at her place after she goes to bed, as I suspect he does), I wonder how he fits into her life. I don't know, or presume to know, but he seems like a random inclusion to a very vulnerable person's life, and I guess that makes me suspicious. And he's so ....shifty. Bad vibes tantamount!

Old Gray Mare Just Ain't what?

There is a guy (a wheezy guy!) who comes into the store occasionally. His name is "Clarice", and he is one of the more famous residents because of his tendency to "roll-hobble" his way home after spending all day drinking. And he's always quite up front about it-- that he is drunk for about 85% of most days.

Between the two of us, we have a running joke that I know he's University Alumni and has been a guest speaker several times (because he's told me), but he refuses to tell me for what faculty or subject this has been in collaboration with. And, given that he is so mischieviously ambiguous about it because he knows that he gets a rise out of me by consterning me ("confuddled academic"), it is a constant source of banter. Doesn't matter his state of sobriety though-- that whenever I have a book, he always enquires as to what it is, so that's a clue, I suppose.

Anyways, sometimes he's really grumpy, and doesn't like to stall, so our banter is brief, but today, he was quite merry and talkative (although, elusive as usual, despite his brand new U of A alumni sweater) and I do think I will get an answer to my question next time he's around. But he was SO drunk today, poor dude. The potatoes in the bin almost bested him several times (mystery academic, fallen in the potatoes), and we ended up bitching about "where are these potatoes from anyways? Ireland?" Ho ho ho.

Somewhere, there was a point to this one, but it's lost now.

Hustler's Spanish Sluts part deux

There is this lady (a bitchy lady!) who comes into the store occasionally. She's a really ornery awful lady that comes in constantly whom I dislike intensely as my experiences with her grow like a malignant tumor in quantity on an innocent body. That almost says it all, but wait! There's more!Her poor husband just constantly follows behind her. She just totally owns him, every square sallow inch. At least he acts that way. He's so beaten and crushed, it's really awful to see. And she's just "on" him, constantly, nagging.I think that's what it is about her that I don't like. She's a huge bully, and I can see that in how she addresses him, and how she addresses me, and it drives me nuts. They always buy lemons and clamato juice, and one day, I'm going to squeeze those things into her eyes with vodka and tabasco juice. And if we carried rimmer salt...you betcha.

And today, I got the vibe that perhaps she realizes that I don't like her. Out of all my customers I am the most cool and detached and speechless with her only. I'll talk up a storm with someone in the checkout line before her, but I just run her stuff through and glare holes into her back when she's not looking.

Today, I was giving away free truffles, and there were two left on the plate when she came in with her slave man. I considered stuffing them both into my mouth in front of her, but decided that would be gross, and I would be sick. I asked her if she wanted one after I was done ringing through the stuff and they'd paid, and she said no. I looked at her husband and asked him, and he seemed shocked that I'd asked him, and was about to say something when she cut in and said, "No! I already said no. God."

Glare glare GLARE. Checkmate-- my scowl radiates further than yours.As a sidenote: The two Rays have not come into the store since last week. I'm kind of choked. They're total sweethearts, even if they're two drunkards who just share the same name. They're like my protectorate peas in a pod. Big Ray and Little Ray. Big Ray is a flirt though, lol.

Somehow working at the store has taken on a life of its own. I'm not sure if it's healthy even how much I just look forward to going to work because I know strange things will happen. I'm constantly immersed in all the foreign things that happen in the mundane everyday events in regards to the underbelly of a city (such as the prostitute and her pimp who had a minor blow-out in the store today over a debit card malfunction), and I'm ...I don't even know how to say it without sounding retarded, but ...I'm enjoying the experience, and I'm enjoying just taking it all in, and doing something that is so immediately gratifying, and still being able to take away all these amazing stories from it.

I just finished reading three things that I will give you running *something* on.

Dead Babies by Martin Amis

Holy fuck is my head hurting, and do I feel like gouging out my eyes. I thought (read: ok, maybe reveled in a little) I'd read some pretty fucked up shit in my time, but I was so remorsefully wrong. The whole time that my mind was being sandblasted with small pills spewing forth from the pages at lightening speed, I kept wondering if I dare read another one of his books for comparison. At this point, I have no other books of his, but could possibly pilfer another, but am also slightly fearful of subjecting myself to the mindfuck of it all.

In a nutshell, there is taking a lovely british summer holiday in the sun and with free young spirits, and THEN there is taking a lovely british summer holiday in the sun with free young spirits on drugs who fuck anything that moves, and where sobriety is only a necessary evil, like taking a dump or cleaning out the coffee filter. Throw in a good handful of psychosis for each party, and motion-sickness inducing pace of writing, and you're left where I'm at now, huddling on my couch and feeling slightly violated.

Maus I and II by Art Spiegelman

Strangely enough, it was a refreshing transition from Amis to read a comic about the Holocaust. I'd been meaning to read the two books for a while, but hadn't had the time until today. They're really well done graphic novels. I've read a lot of literature about the Holocaust before these, but these touched me profoundly, because they were so personally written and related (true) from the author's father's experience of surviving World War II as a Jewish person with his wife. Not only this, but there are things occurring after the war included that give the full extent of "fallout" that even those who survived would endure for the rest of their lives.

For me, the most jarring part of the novels was seeing the diagrams of the crematoriums or the showers, as relayed by Art Spiegelman's father, and hearing about the many daunting things that he experienced or saw firsthand around those. Chilling also was the inevitable thing that happens towards the concept of "death" in a time of crisis (that is to say that the death of another becomes insignificant, except to be something to avoid for yourself in the pursuit of survival).

Last but not least, Fenton and I watched "City of God", to cap off the day, stretched out on the blue bed of doom watching turqoise subtitles (how vibrant and hard to read!). This one is still sinking in I think, but I'm very glad that someone recommended it to me, because it's an outstanding movie. It sure gives you a different outlook on how "organized" crime works though, granted things work differently in different places I suppose. But yeah, maybe more on that later. I couldn't stop thinking about Tookie Williams while I was watching it. The featured link is...interesting. Mind that flashy scrolling banner of death!

To those not in the know, I am now free like wildabeast until January. I have no fucking clue how to while away the time.

Every pirate lives for something different. For some, it's the open sea. For others (the masochists), it's the food. For you, it's definitely the fighting. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!

Is it a problem that one might feel more alive and in tune/connected with the world when they are lacking in sleep, and incredibly detached/apathetic when they are not?

So I've had all these experiences in my life that SHOULD make me a fantastic person at this precise moment, and somehow I feel like a hoodlum right now that everyone is doubting the capabilities of and second guessing, throwing second glances at and wrinkling noses in disappointment. Or maybe it's just me thinking that I myself am a hoodlum, when I really should be a fantastic person. After all, this was the purpose behind me living the life that I have lived, right? Whether I was aware of it or not at the time, I am definitely aware of what I am lacking right now. But to pinpoint those things that have possibly once been there and are now eroded into round dull leads ineffectual for a good drawing, is hard to do right now.

Fenton called this an introspective "fatalistic something-something." I call it the state of hanging suspended and useless in the gelatin of life, watching everything go by, unable to affect concern through movement.

"I like my neighborhood. I like my gun. Driving my little car, I am your girl and I will protect you."

In result of withdrawing from my IPT, I've been feeling a lot of things. Initially, I was really lost and confused, but now that I know what I am going to do, I feel better. Actually, I felt pretty darn good until I realized I'd still have to redo the damn thing to do what I wanted to do. But, I had this sudden realization that part of the reason I did so poorly at it this time around, was because my mind and my character just wasn't "there".

I think intrinsically right now, that I knew that I wasn't being a "good" enough person to waltz in there and start teaching kids. I have been known to associate with the odd hallucinogenic, I have been drinking a lot lately, and etcetera. These stupid things, coupled with my own acknowlegement that they are dumb things to do when you're trying to be an educator, were weighing on my conscience heavily. Adversely, that subliminally dragged me down. I wasn't trying as hard as I should have been, because I was starting to believe I wasn't a good enough person to do this...and it bothers me now that I wasn't trying. For wanting to do this so bad, I wasn't trying hard enough at all, and my heart totally was not there all the way at all. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy being there, it was that I still felt so chewed up from the courseload and expectations of the semester prior to the practicum, and stressed....really stressed. I didn't have much downtime, and my sleeping habits have been terrible. Plus, I didn't honestly think it would be that hard, I think I kind of expected it would come naturally to me. And sometimes it did-- I had a lot of shining moments in my practicum, but I started the whole thing out on a high note of anxiety, and it never really stopped. I had a much shorter leash to begin with to work with than any of my other school ST counterparts. They were at least in their minors, teaching kids who didn't have to do PATs in January, with ONE mentor teacher. I had two. Grade nines who had PATs up-and-coming-fast, and was teaching my major for 80% of the time. And I wasn't dealing. I dreaded getting up there. I hated the material, had no leniency with the material (Because of PATS), and was too afraid of forgetting something to just loosen up and be myself.

I do still have to attempt this again. But holy fuck, this year has almost been a complete write-off for me, I think. The good news is that I checked my grades, and I got all Bs, except for Mr. A's fucking assessment class. D-. Ouch.

[1) Getting really drunk on a Thursday always seems like a good idea "at the time," and while the company was good, the idea definately was not. I have never been so hungover in my life.

[2] Anytime is meth/crack/something frightening time. Even at 2:30 pm, when you come into my store and your head is seriously going to rotate off of your shoulders because you are SO sketched out that you are twitching and flailing like a marionette puppet.

[3] There is a drug dealer who circles our block regularly during the day. His clientele hang out in my store, or outside our building. When he parks in front of the old folk's lodge, they fly towards his silver car like moths to lightbulb (that you can smoke crack out of, of course).

[4] His clientele are very "sensitive". Me saying, "ok, then go," is apparently easily construed as "you're a stupid fuck-off, get out of my store afore I calls the po-lice."

[5] Said po-lice are fucking useless. I give you plates, detailed artist description of car, and rough guess of whenabout the "rounds" are, and you tell ME to phone the drug squad, who incidently, gets the weekend off. And obviously you don't sir, because you're telling me that I should just kick them out of my store if they "bug" me so much-- to "call us if you have an incident." AFTER the stabbing/gunshot wound/ violent beating/throwing of candy bars, in other words.

Usually the dudes that come into the store from the Y are a great source of amusement for me when they are doing the crack shuffle from aisle to aisle, and I don't mind dealing with them too much, and they don't generally stir up any trouble. But today, I didn't have the patience for it, and today, I was just a little more susceptible to the paranoia lurking in my mind about how unpredictable some of them can be when they're high. Since my knee is acting up, and I'm really tired, I don't feel like I'm going to be "up to it" if anything bad really were to happen. Plus, I got mouthed off ALOT today, and I hate that, especially when I'm grouchy and tired, because I don't retaliate to it well.

Black old sun, black old son, come take away the pain, black old sun won't you come, won't you come

I'm so exasperated with everything right now. I'm tired of being "target girl", I'm TIRED of being "target girl", I'm tired of being the brunt of things for everyone, and I'm tired of coming home, and I am tired of having this feeling that I should not go home. I will however, endeavor to stay out of my house for as much as possible in the next...until I move out.

I tried to remember yesterday when the last time I'd lived in a place that was consistantly good and healthy to live, and it turns out it was like six years ago. I started wondering if this was me being a poophead and unable to cope or find the positives, but the fact of the matter is that the only reason I've toughed out the last six years, has been because I could do that. I know...poor me, lol, but it's just weird. I've had a very weird day.

At about one o'clock today, the Square started blaring Shania Twain window-shakingly loud on the rink speakers, and since where I live is so high, it was massively distorted and weird. All in preperation for bright nights (I saw some of the fireworks from the store later). I also saw a fluorescant pink ferrari, and have inadvertantly been sticking my foot in my mouth all day, such as calling Fenton's dad an asshole (again, inadvertantly, and I apologised- I like his dad), and saying something along the lines of "being trite, in a humorous way," to a sort of depressed girl in the store.

I am such a superstar.

I have to have a midpoint evaluation to show for tomorrow, as well as be perky and bushytailed. I don't know if I can hack that, but I'll try. I have this immense diatribe about how school's been going in a saved post- I'll get around to finishing it and publishing tomorrow. If I'm still aliveI'm feeling really angry right now. It's just been this slow burn all day, though I think I've been working up to it for a while. I know this is pretty livejournal, but no one reads this shizzat anymore anyways. But yeah, angry, defeated, and just completely apathetic.

Good news is, I can pay my rent now, and all other debts. Might leave me scrimping a little for the next week or so, but at least I'll have the debt demons out of my hair. Hopefully permanently, if all goes to plan.

I got to hang out with Radpants yesterday, albeit briefly, but it was good to see her. There was talk of a road trip in the summer, which would be fucking cool. Also talk of sentimental vials of sand and cigarette butts in the mail from Singapore. Awww....

[] I'm afraid of the quiet. Not at all. Often people or things are not quiet enough. [x] I am really ticklish. [x] I'm afraid of the dark. Only sometimes, when I'm by myself. Exclusively limited to the wilderness at night. [ ] I'm afraid of facing my back to open doors at night.[ ] I am homosexual.[x] I believe in true love. I seriously used to be a non-believer. Which, intrinsically, is why I set up people and they end up unhappy and broken up, or unhappy and stuck together with kid or something.[x] I've ran away from home.[x] I collect comic books. I have been known to hide comics away. I'll certainly never get rid of them. [x] I shut others out when I'm sad[x] I have stayed out all night.[] I open up to others easily.[x] I am keeping a secret from the world.[x] I watch the news.[x] I own over 5 rap CDs.[x] I love Disney movies. Yeah...obviously I don't care what you think. I dig 'em. Disney was probably my first "anything art." [x] I am a sucker for pretty eyes.[ ] I kill bugs. Hardly ever! Will go out of my way to not kill bugs, except silverfish in the store, because they gross me out. Well, and mosquitos. What an oppressed species eh? [x] I curse all the time.[ ] I have (had) "x"s in my screen name.[x] I've slipped and fell in public. On numerous occasions, involving minor longterm injuries. [] I've slipped out a "lol" in a real conversation.[] I love Spam.[x] I bake well. I love cooking. To me, cooking and cleaning are very meditative things to do. Admittedly, cleaning can be annoying when you're pressed for time though. But since I try and think of cooking as meditative, and I actually enjoy it, generally, I'm pretty good at it.[] I have worn pajamas to class. [ ] I own something from Abercrombie.[x] I have a job.[x] Talked on a phone for 5 hours. You know it![ ] I love Dr. Phil-like Herpes I do...[x] I like someone. Just a little.[x] I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS. Only to annoy Fenton.[x] I am self-conscious. To a certain extent, everyone is, it's why we are like we are. So yeah.[x] I love to laugh.[x] I have tried alcohol.[x] I drink alcohol on a regular basis.[x] I have tried a cigarette. Ha ha.[x] I have tried a cigar.[ ] I have smoked a pack in one day.Never more than half.[x] I loved Lord of the Flies.[] I have cough drops when I'm not sick.[] I can't swallow pills. [x] I have a few scars. Ha ha...Just a couple...[x] I've been out of this country. To the USA.[] I can't sleep if there is a spider in the room.[X] I love chocolate. DO I!!!?[] I bite my nails.[] I am not comfortable with being me.[] I play computer games when I'm bored. Once in a while, but not too often.[] gotten lost in the city.[x] Seen a shooting star.[] Had a serious injury.[x] Gone out in public in your pajamas.[x] Have kissed a stranger. It was in Quebec...it's complicated.[x] Hugged a stranger[] Been arrested.[x] Beverage come out of your nose while laughing[x] Pushed all the buttons on an elevator.[x] Made out in an elevator.[] Swore at your parents.[] Kicked a guy where it hurts on purpose.[] Been skydiving.[] Been bungee jumping.[x] Gotten stitches. I find stitches unimpressive...ask me about staples! [] Drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.[x] Bitten someone. The only answer I can think of is not my own: "only in a sexy way."[] Been to Niagara Falls.[] Gotten the chicken pox twice.[] Crashed into a car.[] Have been to Japan.[x] Ridden in a taxi.[] Shoplifted.[] Been fired.[x] Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.[x] Stole something from your job. I rented a movie for "free" once.[x] Gone on a blind date. Asshole![] Had a crush on a teacher/coach.[] Celebrated Mardi Gras in New Orleans.[] Been to Europe.[] Slept with a co-worker.[x] Been proposed to.[] Been married.[] Gotten divorced.[x] Saw someone/something dying.[x] Driven over 400 miles in one day. My parents are troopers when it comes to the driving long distances thing.[x] Been to Canada. Only on occasion....when it's not winter, har har.[x] Been on a Plane.[] Regretful tattoo.[] More than 5 tattoos.[] Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show.[] Been in a bloody fist fight.[] Thrown up in a bar.[x] Eaten sushi.[x] Been snowboarding.[x] Been skiing.[x] Been ice skating.[x] Cried in public[] Walked purposely into traffic with your eyes closed.[x] Liked someone even though you knew you shouldn't have.[x] Thought of someone almost 24/7[x] Hated the world.[] Been in jail.[] Shot someone.[x] Got shot. With a bb gun. Mon dieu! [] Stabbed.